


These violent delights have violent ends

by estherology



Category: Rock Opera R&J
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-03
Updated: 2020-03-03
Packaged: 2021-02-22 22:21:52
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,379
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23001316
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/estherology/pseuds/estherology
Summary: Tybalt spent his entire life looking for Romeo without really knowing why.
Kudos: 3





	These violent delights have violent ends

**Author's Note:**

> These violent delights have violent ends  
> And in their triumph die, like fire and powder,  
> Which as they kiss consume: the sweetest honey  
> Is loathsome in his own deliciousness  
> And in the taste confounds the appetite:  
> Therefore love moderately; long love doth so;  
> Too swift arrives as tardy as too slow.

Tybalt hated Romeo and everything that he stood for.

That man, and his ragtag gang of black-wearing hooligans, seemed determined to make Tybalt’s life as police captain of Biancazulli absolutely miserable, by doing everything from messing with the AI machines that were there to keep the streets safe (they had messed with the road sweepers so badly that the engineers only managed to get them back to their regular schedule after three days), to turning the Capulets’ meeting with a foreign dignitary into a joke (the stink from the fart bomb wouldn’t be washed out of the conference room for a week). Lord Capulet, who had brushed off the presence of these delinquents up to that incident, had been so furious about it that he specifically assigned Tybalt to go after the group who called themselves “Gruppa”. 

There began the Biancazulli’s pursuit of Gruppa. 

(But everyone knew they were really just playing a game of cat-and-mouse.)

The two groups first clashed in the back alley of some abandoned movie theatre (nobody went to the movie theatres anymore, having long become redundant in the age of VR helmet movies). Wearing his best stern frown, Tybalt strode forward in his coat that marked him a higher ranking member of Biancazulli, ready to put these wannabe gangsters (prankster boys, really) in their rightful place – only to be met with this young leader sticking out his tongue at him. Romeo laughed right at them, his eyes bright and brazen, and called him an uptight bitch in front of Tybalt’s entire crew. Blood rushed in Tybalt’s ears, but before he could do anything, a paintball hit him right, bright blue blooming on his chest. 

(He most definitely didn’t yelp when that happened. Shh, no, don’t believe what they say. He definitely did not.)

It only took a second for the alley to turn into a battle site of paintballs, with the pristine white coats of Biancazulli being the greatest casualties. Gruppa made their escape by scrambling to the top of a wall where Biancazulli couldn’t reach, jeering at the paint-splattered Biancazulli beneath their feet. Romeo, the last of them still on the ground, hopped nimbly up the wall, with one of his friends pulling him up onto the ledge. As they disappeared over the wall, Romeo gave him one last impish glance. “Catch me if you can!” He winked and vanished.

Tybalt balled up his fists and swore to catch Romeo even if it killed him.

Romeo represented everything that Tybalt detested: chaos, disorder, and rebellion. Tybalt did not simply hate these things out of loyalty to his post as the Captain of the Biancazulli, or to Lord Capulet, but because he believed that things were better in this world – the world with peace and safety and order instead of the world that he had grown up in.

At the time, Tybalt had not been quite old enough to remember the world, before it changed. Before AI roamed freely on the streets and CCTVs were on every street corner. What he did remember, he recalled in flashes, vague feelings and blurred memories: His parents holding him in his arms as they rushed through the streets; the angry, frenzied yelling pounding in his ears; the crowd surging forward, forcing them to move along with them; somewhere, the sound of glass shattering, the shards barely missing them; the shrill screeching of a skidding car–  _ WHAM! _

Tybalt hated chaos. Chaos destroyed things. It killed people.

But Romeo threw everything into disarray. Tybalt could spend days planning and arranging every detail for something and Romeo came in flipped it on its head. It infuriated Tybalt that this boy, this  _ man _ , could just throw away everything that Tybalt had been working towards without a single care in the world. 

“Can’t you see what you’re doing will just lead to nothing? It’s meaningless!”

Tybalt asked him once, when he had chased Gruppa down into an alley and another and another until Romeo and him were alone. (Tybalt knew that Romeo was purposely driving him away from the other Gruppa members. But he let Romeo lead him anyway.)

Romeo’s eyes twinkled. “Don’t you see what  _ you’re _ doing is meaningless too?”

In truth, the Biancazulli were essentially useless in a society that was watched by cameras on every street corner. The fact that the most serious disturbance that they experienced was a bunch of younguns who liked to mess with things proved that. Their only purpose was to exist, to show their presence to the citizens and remind them of the importance of order. If Tybalt were honest with himself, he might have admitted that he was grateful for Gruppa, lest the boredom of this job put him in his grave first.

Not that he was going to admit it.

Ignoring the jab, Tybalt went on, “Then why do it?”

Romeo’s face broke into a grin. “Because it’s fun!” He blew him a kiss, and the alleyway was suddenly filled with smoke. When it cleared, Tybalt was unsurprised to find that Romeo had vanished.

_ Infuriating. _

What kind of response was “because it’s fun”? That was way too flippant, way too cocky, way too  _ free _ . Freedom was dangerous. Freedom meant that there was more than just what Lord Capulet had given him, and Lord Capulet had given them everything, right?

_ Ab-so-lu-te-ly infuriating _ , Tybalt screamed in his head, punctuating each syllable with a punch.

“Captain?”

Tybalt turned quickly, hiding his fist behind his back. “What?” he snapped.

The Biancazulli member who had interrupted his ragefest shifted his eyes away from the wall that Tybalt had been hitting. “Er… Gruppa’s been spotted nearby again.”

_ Goddammit _ .

Tybalt massaged his hand discreetly, dull pain radiating between his knuckles. “Then why are you just standing there, get ready to move out!”

  
“Yes, sir!” The Biancazulli member squeaked and scurried off. 

Tybalt shook his head. Sometimes, he really questioned why he joined Biancazulli.

When he became Captain, Lord Capulet himself had shown up to present him with his white coat. (It wasn’t the same one that he was wearing now, because the paintball incident had forced the entire force to order in a new batch of uniforms.) He wore the white with such pride, believing with every fibre of his being that he was responsible for keeping the society that they lived in safe. Instead all he had really done since becoming Captain was chase around some guy and his crew. Like pests, they just kept coming back.

A pest. That’s all Romeo was to him, yes. A dirty street rat that slipped from his grasp every time.

But Lord Capulet had been specific in his instructions about how to deal with Gruppa. There was no real need to capture them. “Allowing a little rebellion is good for my image,” Lord Capulet had muttered absent-mindedly when asked about it, trying his best not to move as the artist continued to work on his portrait. Even so, they couldn’t just let them run unchecked. A scare once in a while was sufficient, and if they could recruit a few Gruppa members, it would look even better. Tybalt found Lord Capulet’s logic a little questionable, but Lord Capulet was the Police Commissioner-General, and Tybalt followed orders.

Tybalt was about to reach for his coat to head out when–

“WATCH OUT!” 

Tybalt dove behind the door just in time as something from the window sailed past his head and landed on his desk. With a loud  _ POOF _ , pink smoke burst forth, and a foul stench emanated from it. The rest of the Biancazulli was not doing much better, with several of these objects having been launched into their headquarters, spewing putrid-smelling, neon-coloured smoke everywhere.

Coughing, he and the rest of Biancazulli rushed towards the front door, determined to get away from the vile smell, but as soon as they stepped outside, icy cold water gushed down onto them, drenching all of them. Dripping wet, Tybalt glowered as he looked up to meet familiar eyes.

Wielding a megaphone in his hand, Romeo, perched on the ledge above the doorway, announced, “Mission: stink bomb the police headquarters is an astounding success!” The sound of it resonated through the streets, and despite shivering in his wet clothes, Tybalt could feel his face heat up.

Gruppa cheered in response, clapping, roaring with laughter, and high-fiving each other. Some of the furious Biancazulli members began to clash with Gruppa, and before long it descended into a too familiar brawl. White and wet uniforms and black torn coats rushed at each other, punching and kicking. 

(None of them really put in that much effort into each punch though. It was just a game that they played, this balance between white and black, this delicate dance that they both participated in.)

Romeo jumped down onto the street, light on his feet, and whooped as he joined in the fight. Tybalt barreled forward and tackled him to the ground.

“Romeo!” Tybalt grabbed him by the shirt and hauled the surprisingly light man to his feet. Their faces were so close now that he could see the sparkling gold flecks in Romeo’s caramel eyes, he could feel Romeo’s heartbeat through the fabric of his shirt and the warmth of Romeo’s hand wrapped around his wrist, and Tybalt realised with a start that Romeo was, above all else and more than anyone Tybalt had ever met, exceedingly  _ alive _ .    
  


(The shiver was from the cold. Yes.)

Tybalt let go like Romeo’s touch had burnt him. Recovering quickly from the traitorous thoughts, he bit out, “How dare you!”

“Daring is the point, Tybalt,” Romeo responded, then burst into a fit of giggles. “You look like a wet dog!”

Looking at him through the wet hair that was plastered on his forehead, Tybalt growled, “I won’t forgive you for this!”

“It’s okay,” Romeo put a hand on his chest in faux sympathy, “even an old dog can learn new tricks.” 

Tybalt shook his head to flick the offending hair out of his face, which only made Romeo snicker even more. 

“You really _do_ look like a dog like this! This is _too_ _good_!” Romeo was falling over himself laughing now, holding his side like he had laughed himself sore.

Tybalt snorted. “Yeah, yeah, take a picture, it’ll last longer.”

Romeo held up his fingers in a rectangle as if he was taking a photo and mimed preparing to take one, but then dropped it. “Nah, no photo could capture how much you look like a  _ cute _ feral dog right now.”

“Shut up!” Tybalt snarled, aiming a punch straight to his face.

Romeo sidestepped it, then dodged another incoming kick. “Make me.” His grin was all teeth and cheek. He raised the megaphone to his lips again and shouted, “Scatter!”

Immediately, all the Gruppa members ran off in different directions, leaving Biancazulli to try to catch them in a futile effort once again. Tossing the megaphone in Tybalt’s face, Romeo himself took off down the road, hooting and jeering at Tybalt trying to catch up to him in the chaos that ensued. As they rounded the corner, Tybalt, gaining on Romeo, was just about to reach for Romeo’s black coat when Tybalt jumped backwards with a yell.

A car zoomed past them, barely missing Tybalt’s toes.

Stunned, he stumbled backwards. His heart in his throat, his eyes flitted up, desperately searching.

Romeo was dashing across the street, narrowly avoiding getting hit by several more speeding cars before making it to the other side.

Tybalt wanted to go after him, but the glare of the red light at the pedestrian walkway glued him to the pavement.

Too dangerous. Yes, too dangerous to go after Romeo. But that guy seemed to have no qualms about being potentially run over by a speeding vehicle. Then again, he seemed to have no consideration for his own safety at all.

“See you around, my dear Tybalt!” Romeo yelled from across the street. 

“I swear I’ll get you some day!” Tybalt barked back. 

But all he did was watch as Romeo once again disappeared beyond his line of sight.

When the image of Romeo in the middle of the busy road appeared in his dreams, he woke up with his heart racing without really knowing why.

(Stupid Romeo. He had to bother Tybalt even while he was sleeping.)

As he lay in bed in the dead of the night, unable to fall back to sleep ( _ stupidromeostupidromeostupidromeo _ ), Tybalt tried to picture what went on in the head of that man. 

Romeo lived every single day like he wanted to see how far he could push the envelope on living. That man not only danced on the tightrope of life – no, he was doing backflips and cartwheels on it, with no regard whatsoever of what the future might hold for him. 

How could anyone live like that? No structure, no rules, no worries? What was that like?

Tybalt wondered. Everything about his own life was regimented: wake up, report for duty, work (chase Romeo around for a bit – he had pencilled this into the routine after the second time they met), go home, eat, wash up, sleep, rinse and repeat. Nothing deviated from the schedule. Nothing changed.

Romeo woke whenever he felt like it and slept whenever he felt like it. Every day’s plan, if there was any, was to his whim’s fancy. When a new, creative idea struck him, he acted on it straightaway. No running it past a superior, no getting approval. He did what he wanted when he wanted, and the rest of Gruppa followed him wherever he went. He was just so unbound, so unrestrained, so free. 

The sound of Romeo’s laughter rang in Tybalt’s ears. It was so clear and musical and  _ pure _ that it was unlike anything Tybalt had ever heard, even among Lord Capulet’s lavish parties, and lingered in Tybalt’s memory long after Romeo was gone.

A knot formed in Tybalt’s chest. What was it like to live in Romeo’s world?

The soft beep from his alarm clock reminded him of how late it was. He turned over and closed his eyes.

He could scarcely imagine it. 

Romeo’s daredevil nature would get him in serious trouble one day, he decided, and he didn’t have to wait very long to be proven right.

When an automated report came in that some people were defacing the (frankly oversized) giant statue of Lord Capulet that stood in the main square, Tybalt’s first reaction was:  _ Seriously? Right in front of everyone? _

Yes, in fact, right in front of everyone, it turned out, as Tybalt arrived on scene to find Romeo standing on statue-Capulet’s shoulder as he spray-painted Xs onto its eyes. Other Gruppa members were hanging on various other parts of the statues or just around it, spray painting pretty straightforward stuff that showed their distaste for him like, “SUX!” and “LOSER!” and other more questionable phrases like “BIG DADDY” that Tybalt really didn’t want to get into. Someone had pasted googly eyes on Lord Capulet’s… behind.

Tybalt shuddered (it would take him a while to erase that image from his brain later), then squared his shoulders and got to business.

“Romeo! What the hell do you think you’re doing?” 

Stopping what he was doing, Romeo looked down at Tybalt, far on the ground below him. “Oh? So glad you could make it too, Tybalt!” he teased.

“Get off Lord Capulet’s shoulder, you disgusting vermin! How dare you disrespect someone so great!”   
  


Romeo pointed at the face of the statue. Someone had extended Lord Capulet’s moustache all the way to his ears. “Come on, it’s a  _ little _ funny, isn’t it?”

“Romeo!” 

He rolled his eyes. “God, Tybalt, you’re such a killjoy.”

Around him, Gruppa members were scrambling off the statue like ants at a surprising speed, considering how huge the statue was. As usual, Romeo was the last one, still balancing precariously on the shoulder of the statue, using his hands to hold on to part of the face for extra support. One of the Gruppa members on the ground was shouting at Romeo to scram already. 

Tybalt kept his eyes fixed on Romeo. “Get. Down. This. Instant!”

“Or what?” Romeo’s mischievous eyes never left his either. “You’ll come up and catch me?”

Something about the way he said it made Tybalt giddy at the thought. Was it the challenging lilt in his voice? Was it the gleam in Romeo’s eyes? Was it the way Romeo looked like he wanted him to actually do it? 

_ You know what? _ Tybalt started forward towards the statue, high on that feeling. Above him, he heard Romeo’s surprised remark, “Seriously?” as he began to scale the statue, determined to reach where Romeo was. 

(What was he doing? He shouldn’t be doing this. This was entirely against protocol.)

“Wow,” Romeo said, sounding impressed, “maybe you aren’t such a killjoy after all, huh.”

  
As Tybalt began to pull himself up onto the shoulder of the statue, Romeo readied himself to hop up onto the tippy top of the statue – its head, to make his escape from Tybalt’s grasp. 

Tybalt saw the disaster unfold before it happened.

“Wait–” a shout formed on his tongue, though he had no idea what he was trying to say.

Romeo slipped.

Tybalt’s heart stopped beating.

Eyes wide, mouth open in a gasp as he tipped forward, Romeo fell.

For a second, for just a second, Tybalt felt his whole body go cold. 

He watched, paralysed, as Romeo plummeted.

Then, someone surged forward, catching him barely in time as he was about to hit the ground in an awful, terrible way. 

For a moment, everything seemed to pause.

“Holy shit, Mercutio, that has got to be the most miraculous catch that has ever occurred,” Romeo burst out.

The spell broke. Tybalt could suddenly breathe again.

The Gruppa member who had caught him – Mercutio, was it? – was still holding onto Romeo, seemingly still frozen in shock. 

“Now set me down, dude,” Romeo reminded, “this is starting to get weird.”

“What the hell, Romeo, you could have been seriously injured from that height!” Mercutio said, letting him down.

“Chill, I just slipped.”

“From that height!”

“It would have been fine.”

“Romeo!”

“Enough nagging, let’s go, go, go!”   
  


(It was good to know that it really  _ was _ just Romeo that could brush something like that off so easily.)

Tybalt took his time coming back down to the ground, unwilling to let anyone see that his hands were trembling. By the time he did, Romeo already had a headstart, but for once, there was no fire within Tybalt’s veins to go after him.

“Till next time!” Romeo yelled, waving at Tybalt as he ran away.

It was only when Tybalt had gotten into the shower after that particularly long day that he realised that his jaw was sore from clenching so hard the entire time.

All Romeo’s fault, of course.

Rubbing his jaw absentmindedly at the memory, Tybalt stared at the report in front of him. It was some routine report that should barely take a second to check through, but the words floated around the page. The only words that were appearing in his mind were: Why had Tybalt done something so childish as to climb the statue after Romeo challenged him to that day? What was Romeo planning to do next? Was he really okay after that fall?

Tybalt furrowed his brow.

Why did he keep thinking about Romeo?

He huffed. Romeo was like a little niggling voice in Tybalt’s ear that would not leave. Tybalt could almost picture him now, sprawled out on the couch of Tybalt’s office like he owned it. Romeo, the total bastard that he was, would put his dirty boots up on Tybalt’s desk despite (or rather, because of) all the times he had been told not to.

  
“Why do you even care so much about keeping the order anyway?” he said in between annoyingly loud bites of a crimson red apple.

Tybalt responded automatically, “Because we should uphold the law.”

“You of all people know that the Biancazulli has nothing to do with upholding the law. You all are just Capulet’s dogs.”

(He rolled his eyes, but Romeo was right. Biancazulli were not there to uphold the “law”, they were there to do whatever the Police Commissioner-General wanted them to do. Lord Capulet  _ was _ the law.)

“And what’s so wrong about that? Lord Capulet does what is best for the peace,” Tybalt insisted.

“Lord Capulet does what is best for himself,” Romeo shot back. 

Tybalt sighed, but decided not to comment on that. “Not everyone can live on the edge all the time, Romeo.”

“Why not?” 

“Some of us would actually like a  _ future _ , you know?”

Romeo laughed. “You Biancazulli are so stuffy. You need to get out there and live a little.” He tossed the apple core into the bin. 

Tybalt kept his eyes stubbornly on the report. “I’m living just fine, thank you very much.”

Romeo’s eyes glittered. “Are you?”

Something about that sentence set Tybalt off. He crushed the paper in his hands and threw it at Romeo’s face.

“Captain?”

Tybalt blinked. In the space where Romeo had been stood a very confused member of Biancazulli, who had narrowly missed being hit by Tybalt’s flying trash.

He rubbed his eyes. He was seeing Romeo where he was not even there. Romeo really  _ was _ driving him crazy.

“What?” Tybalt nearly shouted. 

“Uh, well, um–”

“Spit it out!”

The Biancazulli member flinched. Tybalt didn’t remember his name, but vaguely recalled him as a new recruit, and he did not have the patience to deal with any bullshit from a newcomer today. “Lord Capulet is requesting you in his office, sir.”

Tybalt straightened in his chair. “Understood. You are dismissed.”

The newcomer skittled away.

(As Tybalt stormed out of the office, the newcomer whispered, “Is he always like that?” 

“Eh, he’s probably just daydreaming about that Romeo again,” someone answered.

“You mean the leader of Gruppa? That Romeo?”

“Yeah, Captain’s always super antsy after we run into him. You’ll get used to it.”

Someone else piped up, “Honestly, he just needs to get laid.”

Rolling of eyes and heads nodding in agreement.)

“There you are, Tybalt, come in, come in.” The lines around Lord Capulet’s eyes crinkled as he cheerfully waved Tybalt in. Despite what Romeo might say about him, Lord Capulet had been nothing but supportive of Tybalt since the start, and for that, he was grateful. 

Tybalt saluted him before sitting down on the proffered seat. “You wanted to see me, sir?”

“Yes, as you know, I’m having my masquerade ball tomorrow. I wanted to confirm the security arrangements for it with you.”

“Of course, sir. My men will be standing by at the reception to make certain that all guests have the necessary invitations to enter the venue. We upped the number of CCTVs in the area to check for suspicious persons, and I, along with several other men, will also be stationed within the venue itself. Are these arrangements to your satisfaction, sir?”

Lord Capulet smiled. “Not bad, Tybalt.”

“Thank you, sir.”

“But double it.”

Tybalt paused. “Sir?”

“Double the security. There are going to be a lot of important people at this event, you know.” Lord Capulet sat forward in his chair. “Very influential, very rich people whose support we need if we want to continue living in this peace. We wouldn’t want anything to go wrong, would we?”

“No, sir,” Tybalt replied hurriedly.

“We wouldn’t want any uninvited  _ guests _ at this very important masquerade ball, would we, Tybalt?”

_ Romeo _ , a voice within him whispered.

Tybalt swallowed. “No, sir. I understand. I will double the guard.”

Smiling, Lord Capulet patted his shoulder. “I always know that I can count on you, Tybalt.”

Shooting to his feet, Tybalt bowed. “Thank you, sir.”

Absolutely nothing could go wrong at this masquerade.

He could not – would not – allow it to happen.

Tybalt set his jaw as the guests began to arrive at the venue. “Get into position,” he instructed into his earpiece and headed inside.

The masquerade ball, like all of the parties that Lord Capulet threw, was flamboyant: exotic dancers dressed in feathers, flashing lights, and the wealthiest and most influential all disguised in strange and awesome masks. (Tybalt had spotted the eccentric young heir of the Pinocchio Group wearing a jewelled bunny mask, which wasn’t even half as weird as the rest of his outfit.)

Lord Capulet, dressed in his finest white suit, greeted the guests one by one as they entered. Rather than the impression of a strict and stern Police Commissioner-General that the medals of honour on his expensive coat might have given, Lord Capulet had the shiny, charismatic aura of a socialite, of someone who enjoyed living the high life and being admired by others. He was such a bubbly old man that it could be hard to believe that this was the same man who had stepped in when the weak democratic administration was barely holding it together and transformed society into the peaceful one that they now lived in. But he was all hearty greetings and boisterous laughter as he welcomed his guests to the party. 

Meanwhile, people were mingling, clinking glasses, and there was a group of guys who had started breaking out moves on the dance floor – All in all, everything was going smoothly.

Leaning against the wall, Tybalt resigned himself to melting into the background of the party. He didn’t particularly enjoy Lord Capulet’s parties, even if he had to be there for security purposes. 

Ugh, he could  _ hear _ Romeo call him a wet blanket.

That bastard had shown up late to the Biancazulli versus Gruppa confrontation that morning, with a “Oh, good morning, Tybalt!” and an excuse about having slept in, having completely missed Tybalt’s entire speech to Gruppa about giving up all this rebelling and rioting. (Tybalt suspected that Romeo was just waiting to make a dramatic entrance. He wouldn’t put it past him.) Tybalt had responded in kind with a mock flying kiss as a ‘ _ So glad you could make it too’ _ . 

Lazily waving a half-finished bottle of milk in one hand and with his hair still mussed from sleep, Romeo had declared with his whole chest: “Who cares about what we want, or need, there’s no bright future for us! That’s the entire reason why we live now, isn’t it? None of us know whether the future will come or not, and it’s useless to worry about things that we don’t know. The now is  _ now _ and the now is everything.”

Tybalt had threatened to arrest him for that. It was a threat that he had said many times, and they both knew how empty those words were.

“ _ Can _ you arrest me?” Romeo had retorted.

“Of course.”

“For what crime?”

Tybalt wanted to wring his little neck. “I’m sure I’ll come up with a whole bunch.”

“Isn’t that cheating? Isn’t this country governed by  _ law _ ?” Romeo had said, throwing the words that Tybalt said so much right back at him. “What’s wrong with your beloved justice?”

Tybalt looked at Lord Capulet, who was standing in the centre of the ballroom and introducing a rather severe-looking man to the crowd, and wondered how his boss might answer.

  
Great, he was letting Romeo really get in his head now.

Lord Capulet was thanking everyone for coming and making a speech about the importance of maintaining peace and harmony. Tybalt’s focus drifted, clapping when everyone else clapped and scanning the crowd more than listening, until the mention of Gruppa sliced through his thoughts and he tuned back in.

“They are parasites!” Lord Capulet declared.

Tybalt clapped a little too enthusiastically for that comment. Romeo was a parasite that had infested society, and Tybalt’s mind. He just needed to eliminate him– Oh wait, Lord Capulet was already wrapping up his speech.

“Please enjoy yourself to the fullest this evening! But before that, put your hands together for a big round of applause to welcome– My lovely, lovely, most beloved daughter, Juliet Capulet!”

In classic Capulet fashion, Juliet appeared at the top of the stairs right on cue. Tybalt had met Juliet a handful of times, mostly when she had rudely barged into his meetings with her father. With long, dark hair that flowed down her back, a signature red lip and a confidence in commanding a crowd that rivalled her father’s, he might have found her beautiful if she were not also a selfish brat in private – She had interrupted a highly sensitive meeting between her father, Tybalt, and a foreign dignitary to complain about being given the wrong  _ shoes _ once. That girl was a special kind of spoilt rotten.

But most people didn’t know that. They only saw the sparkling smile and her impressive dance moves (even he had to admit) as she took the floor. No wonder she had so many admirers. If only they knew the real Juliet...

Crossing his arms, he fought back a yawn. It would not be good for him to look sleepy on the job and definitely not good if Lord Capulet caught him yawning at his precious daughter’s performance.

Flipping her hair, Juliet moved her hands expertly, a smirk on her face as she wowed the audience with every quick and precise movement. Giving every movement that extra pop were backup dancers, all dressed in white in comparison to her blue, all less pretty than her (she had made sure). She winked and charmed the crowd with every little gesture, but Tybalt couldn’t be less interested in it.

Unbearably bored at the performance, he threw up his hands. If it weren’t his job to stay there and watch over everything… 

Wait.

That couldn’t be–

A man, half-hidden in shadow, had been so completely enraptured by Juliet’s performance that he had pushed up his plain white mask, simple compared to the ornate masks the others wore. He had an unruly crop of brown hair and wore a black coat that made him both blend in with the darkness and stick out like a sore thumb from its raggedness.

The man noticed Tybalt staring. He quickly pulled the white mask back over his face and made himself scarce, making a feeble attempt at hiding behind a pillar.

Nah, it really couldn’t. Not even Romeo was stupid enough to break into such a highly fortified ball like this. The place was crawling with Biancazulli. How would Romeo even get in anyway? Every entrance to this place was guarded, and they checked all the guests’ invitations thoroughly before letting them in. It was impossible. That wasn’t Romeo.

Right?

Tybalt looked over again. 

Okay, but that  _ really _ looked like Romeo. He had the same build and that coat looked really similar to the one that Romeo wore. Not to mention, there were another bunch of other guys slinking around suspiciously nearby.

Romeo had been wearing that same coat that morning.

That was definitely Romeo.

So that was definitely Gruppa.

Shit, shit, shit. If Lord Capulet found out that Gruppa themselves were here – and after specific instructions…

Should he go after him now? 

A quick glance over at Lord Capulet made his back stiffen. No, he had to do it while Lord Capulet wasn’t watching. 

Shoving down his panic, he shifted over his eyes to Juliet’s dancing. Soon. He had just wait for it, wait for it...

“And that was Juliet Capulet, everyone!” Lord Capulet announced as Juliet took a deep curtsy.

Tybalt turned on his heel and marched towards the black-wearing gang. 

Immediately, they scattered like rats. Among the masks in the crowd, Tybalt lost track of the man he was looking for, and Romeo, as he always did, disappeared.

Adjusting his coat, Tybalt stormed off.

“Dammit!” he yelled.

His fist slammed into the chest of a Biancazulli member. The poor guy that he was using as his personal punching bag keeled over, but he paid it no mind.

“The next time I find Romeo, I’ll kill him!” 

Romeo had been spotted climbing down the vines outside Juliet’s balcony the morning after the ball. Tybalt’s stomach churned at the implication.

Lord Capulet couldn’t find out about this.

“This doesn’t leave this room, understood?” he threatened the Biancazulli member who had reported the sighting to him and was now grovelling at his feet. 

“Y-Yes-”

“Understood?” he repeated, pressing his heel down on the man’s bruised chest.

The man beneath his foot let out a choked, “Yes, sir!” 

“Get out of here.”

Tybalt spent the next few days stressing about whether to tell Lord Capulet about the breach in security. But when the dreaded time came the next time he was called into his boss’s office, Lord Capulet was not even there.

A man with an upturned collar stood at attention at the corner of the office. It took a second before his face registered in Tybalt’s mind: Gregory, the close friend of Capulet’s whom he had introduced everyone to at the masquerade ball. He had a face like it was cut from stone, chiselled and cold. The shadows moved across his face as he turned towards Tybalt.

Tybalt did not like the expression on Gregory’s face.

“Where’s Lord Capulet?”

“He just left.” Gregory folded his arms. “But he left me an order to give to you.”

A shiver went down Tybalt’s spine.

“What is it?”

“It’s quite simple, really.” Gregory leaned over and adjusted the name plate on Lord Capulet’s desk. “Kill Romeo.”

With two words, everything stopped.

Something ice cold, like frostbite, spread from his head till his toes. It might have felt like someone had doused him with cold water, except that he  _ had _ been doused with it before and it did not feel like this. This was worse, cold and bone deep.

“What?” he whispered.

“Kill Romeo,” Gregory repeated calmly.

Tybalt took an unsteady step back, but could not feel the ground beneath his feet anymore. “What is this?”

Gregory leaned against the edge of the desk. His shadow seemed to fill the empty seat left by Lord Capulet. “An order from your Commissioner-General.”

He couldn’t hear himself speak over the sound of his blood rushing in his ears. “Why?”

“Because your Commissioner-General wants you to.”

Tybalt didn’t even know what he was saying anymore. “It’s just that, up till now, the orders about Gruppa were just to–” 

Gregory took a long drag of his cigarette. The smoke puffed around him, obscuring his face. “Oh, the orders for the rest of Gruppa remain the same. Only Romeo must die.”

The words began to spill out without meaning to, words that had been boiling within him for years and years and finally boiled over. “Romeo is nothing but a prankster. I hardly think that calls for–”

Through the smoke, Gregory fixed his beady black eyes on his. “Are you questioning your orders, Captain?”

_ What was he saying? Why was he defending Romeo? _

“No, sir,” Tybalt answered on instinct. “Understood.”

He didn’t remember how he got there, but the next thing he was aware of was that suddenly he was in his own office.

The black and white flooring spun around him. The air seemed to close in around him, settling on his chest, thick and heavy, both burning hot and freezing. Darkness creeped at the edges of his vision. Right now, the bustle of the police station behind him seemed far, far away, unreachable. His mind was a hurricane of thoughts that didn’t make any sense and for the first time in his life he felt out of control of it all. 

He stumbled over to his desk, gripping the edge of it for support. He couldn’t show Biancazulli their Captain’s weakness, no, that was not right, that was not right–

_ Kill Romeo _ .

Tybalt’s eyes landed on the megaphone that lay on his shelf. Romeo’s megaphone, the one he had thrown at Tybalt that time, stood out among the other items on the shelf as the only thing there without a real functional purpose – Tybalt had kept it without really understanding why. Tybalt did a lot of things without knowing why when Romeo was involved. If Romeo didn’t exist, Tybalt would have never dreamt of climbing up the statue that day or questioning an order from a superior, if Romeo was gone– 

If Romeo was gone...

Tybalt tried to recall what his life was like before Romeo, but he could scarcely remember it. It was like he had been living in greyscale, then Romeo burst onto the scene, rudely and with no introduction, and his world exploded into full colour. He was a vibrant splash of graffiti on the white walls of this society, painting his bright colours without a care in the world, without any consideration of the mess he was making, without thinking about what he was doing.

He had tried to understand the picture Romeo was painting, and everything that he had done up to this point had brought him no further in interpreting it beyond the fact that it was the most beautiful thing that Tybalt had ever seen. Romeo was pure instinct, freedom, something that belonged to the realm of dreams. He was a force of nature, uncontrollable and untameable, and Tybalt had been swept up by the wind of Romeo’s hurricane. 

But the colourful graffiti was always covered up with white, and all dreams had to end. 

_ Kill Romeo. _

It didn’t make any sense. For all that Romeo was a nuisance, he hadn’t done anything that made him deserving of death. He may have been annoying, but that was all he was – a wannabe gangster, a self-proclaimed rebel, a rascal. 

They were treating him like a hardened criminal.

_ What’s wrong with your beloved justice? _

Tybalt didn’t have an answer. He couldn’t. Not when, deep within him, it was something that he always knew, but had refused to let himself think: Justice had never been fair, and the law, the peace that he had fought so hard for was nothing but a lie – a lie that had been drilled into him until he himself lived and breathed and perpetuated it. 

Romeo had been right, and Tybalt hated him for it.

And now, Romeo was going to die for it. 

Even if Tybalt had refused, had somehow gone against orders and walked out of that office and run off to warn Romeo, there was no running from Capulet’s influence. He would just send someone else after him, someone who wasn’t Tybalt, someone who might enjoy squeezing the life out of Romeo slowly, to make him suffer till the last moment. 

(Someone like Gregory, probably.)

His world was about to go dark forever, and there was nothing Tybalt could do about it.

There was nothing Tybalt could do to save him.

_ Romeo must die. _

The heat in his veins surged and overcame him. With a yell, he overturned his entire desk, sending everything on top of it scattering across the floor. Unable to think clearly anymore, he grabbed the megaphone on his shelf and threw it straight into the glass of his door. It shattered, shards raining down onto the floor of the Biancazulli’s office. 

The entire office went dead silent, the Biancazulli members staring wide-eyed at their crazy Captain’s outburst.

“FIND ROMEO!” he screamed.

It was a task easier shouting about than done. Gruppa had been unusually quiet lately – They had been laying low since the masquerade ball. It took Biancazulli longer than Tybalt would have liked to locate Gruppa’s latest rathole, and even then, a quick sweep of the gang told him that Romeo was nowhere to be found. 

“He’s not here,” Gregory remarked. 

Gregory had ‘decided to tag along’ when Biancazulli headed towards Gruppa’s latest hideout. Only Tybalt knew why he was really here, standing behind the Biancazulli members. His presence made Tybalt feel like ants were crawling in his veins. 

The Gruppa member that came out to greet him wasn’t someone that he recognised. Already irritated, Tybalt asked, “Who the hell are you?”

“Who cares?” the Gruppa member countered.

That’s true. He didn’t come here looking for Gruppa after all. “What happened to Romeo?”

“How would I know?”

His anger bubbled. “Isn’t he the General of you cattle?” he spat.

“Shut the fuck up,” the man hissed.

“Are the rumours true?” Tybalt bent down to his level. “Did he run off with a girl?”

The man set his jaw and didn’t answer.

“Say something!” Tybalt barked. “Can’t you hear me? You fucking trash!” 

  
The man remained silent.

“What happened to Romeo?” he repeated. “If you’re here, show yourself!” Silence. “Romeo, aren’t you here–?!”

“Romeo isn’t here anymore!” Another voice cut in, pushing the other man out of the way. “I’m your opponent.”

This man, Tybalt recognised. He had been the one to catch Romeo when he fell, the one who always had been by his side, watching him: Mercutio. 

Tybalt turned to him, regarding Mercutio’s words with a quiet voice. “Romeo isn’t here. What happened?”

“It doesn’t matter!” Mercutio screamed, his voice cracking. He looked like he hadn’t slept all night. There was a desperation in his eyes, the recklessness of a man who had lost everything that a sense of dread to stir within Tybalt. “Come down here and fight me now!”

“You’re Mercutio, aren’t you?” Tybalt said with a strange sense of calm.

“So what?”

“Fighting someone of your level would be a waste of my energy.” Tybalt made a shooing motion with one hand and turned away. “Leave.”

“Shut up!” Mercutio yelled, starting towards him.

The man from earlier quickly stepped in front of Mercutio, blocking him. “It’s useless, let’s get outta here,” he said, enlisting the help of several other members to hold him back.

“I won’t run from him!” Mercutio insisted, straining against them.

“Hey, you’re acting really weird!” the Gruppa member responded.

Mercutio’s shouting was barely intelligible now as he fought against his own members, but Tybalt’s attention was immediately arrested by the unsteady figure at the corner of his eye. 

He opened his arms to welcome him. “Hey, isn’t that guy staggering over here Romeo?”

Romeo emerged, gasping for air. 

He was in worse shape than Tybalt had ever seen him. Even after all their fistfights, he had never seen him in a condition like this: beaten bloody, an ugly purple with yellow blotches blooming on his cheek, his lip split. Whatever happened to him had to have been recent, because even as he attempted to saunter casually towards Tybalt, his knees buckled and he fell over, wincing in pain.

Tybalt approached him slowly, as he would a wounded animal. Romeo pulled himself up into a kneeling position, but couldn’t bring himself to stand. He looked even worse up close. A sinking feeling settled in Tybalt’s stomach.

_ Who did this to you? _ Tybalt wanted to ask.

(No, no, no, he was not supposed to be concerned about him. He was here to kill him.)

“What is this, you’re totally beat up,” he said instead, leaning over him. “What happened?”

  
  


Romeo met his gaze. In spite of the discolouration near his eyes, in spite of his entire condition, Romeo’s eyes were filled with fire. Laughing, he flipped him off. “Nothing,” he said easily, his voice light and joking as if he hadn’t been beaten halfway to death.

Tybalt’s treacherous heart twisted itself into knots. Only Romeo would be like this. Laughing so carefreely like this, like it was just another daily confrontation between Biancazulli and Gruppa that would end in him running away for the next one. How he wished it was.

But it wasn’t. And there was no point in wishing otherwise.

_ Kill Romeo _ .

His hand twitched. The gun in his holster suddenly felt very heavy.

“I don’t feel like exterminating you when you’re in this condition!” he said, shoving Romeo with one foot. Usually, Romeo wouldn’t have been affected by something so gentle at all, but it was shockingly and saddeningly easy for him to collapse back onto the ground. That indescribable feeling crept back into Tybalt’s throat and made it hard for him to breathe. He turned on his heel, hoping that not looking at Romeo’s crumpled form on the ground might ease the discomfort in his chest. “Let’s do this another day.”

“Exterminate?” Romeo choked out. “What do you–?”

“It’s nothing, just that we’ll stop here for today.”

_ Just walk away, Tybalt,  _ a voice within him whispered. 

Gregory yelled, “Do it, Tybalt!”

“I won’t! I’m not interested in doing it while he’s like this!”

For some reason, the blurry memory of his parents holding his hand as they pushed through the chaos flashed in his mind.  _ Stop it _ . It was so loud. Shouting. Gregory was staring at him, fuming silently. Someone was shouting.  _ Kill Romeo _ . He was right behind him, he was running right toward– 

_ BANG _ .

The sound of the gunshot echoed in his ears. 

Tybalt realised that his gun was smoking. He looked down and noticed for the first time that he was holding it in his hand.

He turned.

A body lay motionless on the ground.

Blood pooled around him, soaking through the blue jacket.

“Huh.” Tybalt felt like he was floating, like his head and his feet and the fingers around the gun were not his anymore. “That wasn’t Romeo.”

Romeo stood, unbalanced on his own two feet, over the body of his best friend. “Mercutio?” he mumbled, as if he expected him to get up.

Two Gruppa members hurried forward and pulled Mercutio’s body aside. Red stained the ground where he had been. Red that was there because of Tybalt. Red that was there because he killed him. 

_ Murderer. _

No, no, no. This wasn’t murder. Tybalt was the Captain of the Biancazulli. And Mercutio, Mercutio was part of Gruppa, society’s pests.

“This was self-defence, as you see,” he stated, “I’m just exterminating vermin.”

He didn’t know who he was saying this to. Even  _ he _ didn’t believe any of the words coming out of his mouth. He had just taken someone’s life. And for what? For peace? For society? For Capulet?

“TYBALT!” Romeo let out a guttural scream and swung his fist straight into Tybalt’s face.

All hell broke loose.

No matter how many times they had exchanged blows, they’d never meant it before. It had been a carefully choreographed dance, neither of them dealing any real damage to each other.

  
This was different. Someone lay dead at their feet.

Tybalt blocked Romeo’s next punch and returned with one of his own, and Romeo crumpled onto the floor again. Tybalt stomped on Romeo’s midsection making him scream. Coughing up blood, Romeo was struggling to get back up again, still fighting in spite of his severe injuries. Tybalt hauled him to his feet with one hand, only to punch him again, sending him flying.

Around them, Biancazulli and Gruppa were fighting each other with a ferocity that had never been there before. But the only thing that Tybalt saw was Romeo. Everything else didn’t matter around them. Only Romeo.

In a now-rare moment of clarity, he realised that he was still holding the gun in his hand. Then he realised he was pointing it at Romeo.

_ Kill Romeo _ .

_ No. _

The gun slipped from his grasp.

Pulling himself to his feet took all of Romeo’s effort. Romeo rushed at Tybalt, but it was too easy, almost pathetically easy, for him to be hit back down again. He dropped to the floor, this time beside Mercutio’s still form.

The world was spinning around him. Tybalt attacked like a madman in a frenzy, all flying punches and kicking. Delirious, he started laughing. Nothing mattered to him anymore: Peace, justice, order. They were meaningless words, worthless concepts, a faraway thought. His whole life he had paraded around in his white uniforms spewing nothing but lies and propaganda, and now there was blood on his hands because of it. There was blood on his hands and Romeo’s would be too – Romeo, whose only crime was to dream of being free. 

If Tybalt had never met Romeo, he might have continued living in this corrupt society happily for all his days, and rot along with it. But now–

Romeo touched the hole in Mercutio’s chest that had been put there by Tybalt and stared, wide-eyed in horror, when his hand came away wet with crimson. With a loud wail and a renewed savagery, he lunged towards Tybalt wildly and uppercut his jaw. Tybalt’s next block was lacklustre, and it showed, as Romeo’s hits landed on his chest again, and again, and again. Grabbing him by the collar, Romeo smeared the blood on his hands on Tybalt’s face and punched him. Tybalt fell to the ground hard.

Tybalt was a murderer covered in his victim’s blood. It dawned on him for the first time that he was not the respected police captain of the Biancazulli, but a monster that everyone was afraid of, even his own men, just as terrible as Gregory and Capulet, and it was too late for him to change that. 

He crawled back up on his hands and knees, but only managed to get into a kneeling position before he saw Romeo standing over him.

Tybalt’s gun was in his hand.

Time stopped.

Staring down the barrel of the gun, Tybalt came to two final conclusions:

One, he could never live with himself knowing the crimes that he had committed.

Two, there was no one else’s hand he would rather die by than Romeo’s.

He started to chuckle. How ridiculous. This was all just ridiculous. For him to realise it only at the very end. The idiot, it turned out, was him, this whole time, it was him. 

Romeo’s chest heaved as he breathed heavily, fingers trembling on the trigger. Blood was splattered across his cheek. Tybalt wasn’t sure whose it was. This was the last time he would ever see him. The place that someone like him would go was a place that Tybalt could never reach. He looked up into Romeo’s eyes to memorise them, burning and alive and  _ beautiful _ .

He pressed his forehead to the barrel of the gun. “Just try it.”

Romeo cocked the gun.

“Don’t!” someone shouted.

He pulled the trigger.

_ BANG _ .

**Author's Note:**

> And then Tybalt went to heaven and met up with Romeo there, and he spent eternity fighting with Romeo until he couldn't deny his feelings anymore, and so Romeo and Juliet and Tybalt lived happily ever after as a threesome in heaven. Mercutio was there too, wondering whether this could really be considered heaven if it meant he was stuck with these bastards forever, the end.
> 
> -
> 
> I really love Rock Opera R&J so, so much. When Fujita Ray said that his portrayal of Tybalt is a Tybalt who loves Romeo, a Tybalt who can only be his true self around Romeo, it occurred to me that this Tybalt would not want to live if Romeo was doomed to die, so his death and his last challenge to Romeo was probably a deliberate move. The themes of oppression and justice really elevated this tragic love story to one about rebellion against a corrupt system. I hope I did justice to Tybalt's complicated feelings for Romeo, and I hope you enjoyed it too.


End file.
